


And now you're mine. Rest with your dream in my dream

by HolRose



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:55:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27541159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolRose/pseuds/HolRose
Summary: A demon wakes in the early morning and does a little thinking. That's it.Written for the SOSH Guess The Author prompt #8 - Dream
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 18
Collections: SOSH - Guess the Author #08 "dream"





	And now you're mine. Rest with your dream in my dream

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this lovely poem by the amazing PABLO NERUDA
> 
> Sonnet LXXXI: Rest with your dream in my dream
> 
> And now you're mine. Rest with your dream in my dream.  
> Love and pain and work should all sleep, now.  
> The night turns on its invisible wheels,  
> and you are pure beside me as a sleeping amber.
> 
> No one else, love, will sleep in my dreams.  
> You will go, we will go together, over the waters of time.  
> No one else will travel through the shadows with me,  
> only you, evergreen, ever sun, ever moon.
> 
> Your hands have already opened their delicate fists  
> and let their soft drifting signs drop away;  
> your eyes closed like two grey wings,
> 
> following the folding water you carry, that carries me away:  
> The night, the world, the wind spin out their destiny.  
> Without you, I am your dream, only that, and that is all.

Let us speak of one who dared to dream.

A demon watches over a sleeping angel. A rare occurrence, normally it is he who sleeps, slumped under covers like a cold corpse, master of accidie. His sloth at first a necessity, to escape from his pain, stop the nagging voices that pursued him. Then, increasingly, for the slow, stultifying pleasure of the thing, not only sleep, but drifting towards slumber, and drowsing out of it, those sleep-softened moments before reality hits, he lived for those.

It is a very human thing, to sleep, to dream.

Blessed, or perhaps to put it better, cursed, with an imagination, that gave him all the necessary facility to hope, how he dreamed. How the thoughts, unbidden came to him, those images of what he would, were he allowed, what he longed for but could not have. A blessing and a curse, to understand the fragile beauty of what remains out of one’s reach.

Or so it was before. Now, he rests and in his arms there lies the corporeal substance of his dreams. Breath flutters from pink lips in easy exhalations. Pale curls lie soft against his cheek. A solid warmth along the length of him, the angel sleeps, easy, contented and his alone.

Mesmerised, he watches. While pre-dawn light strengthens through the gap in bedroom curtains, and the mournful cry of curlews, waking on the chalk downs, warbles through the morning chill, his gaze is steady. Free to open his full heart, without deflection, he loves and treasures, cradling the only one he ever wanted, safe within his oversight.

The angel shifts, his eyes, under the fragile cover of their lids, begin to move, translucent lashes trembling, the blue-washed skin, paper thin, fluttering as they agitate. The angel dreams.

What visions trouble the placid sleep of an angel who rarely rests? The demon smiles. How many times has he heard the benediction, uttered with a sweetsmile from those lips he only lately kissed and held against his mouth, those lips that mapped his skin, and sounded out the depths of an angel’s love, for him, only for him?

“ _May you dream of what you love best_.”

What would an angel want were he to choose the subject of his reverie? What is it that he sees, in the hallowed chambers of his dreamscape, that makes him smile, as he is now smiling, and utter little sounds of satisfaction?

“ _Crowley_ ”

That double syllable, sounded into the cool air on a half sigh. He tightens his arms about his heart’s desire, a tear tracks his cheek. He has everything he ever dreamed of, he is come home. He closes his eyes, lets sleep take him.

Waking, later, to two blue/green eyes that brim with soft fondness, a yawn and a sleepy smile.

“Good morning, darling. I had the most delightful dream. I can’t remember much of it…” a blush, lowered lashes, “it was so lovely though, because you were there, beloved.”


End file.
